


Patron Saint of Bee Keepers

by anythinglock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, F/F, Femlock, Vaginal Fingering, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythinglock/pseuds/anythinglock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan manages to surprise Sherlock twice in one day - and on Valentine's Day, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron Saint of Bee Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in more than a decade, so there are a lot of negative things I could say about it, but I just wanted to get something up on this website after months of hemming and hawing about writing femlock. I hope it's at least mildly enjoyable!
> 
> Also I know there's a lot of support for keeping 'John' instead of 'Joan', but I have my reasons. Feel free to start a dialogue about it if you feel strongly.

“You’re sure you’re not coming?” Joan shouted from the bathroom.

Sherlock inhaled disdainfully. “Must we go over this again? I’ve no desire to –”

“No, I think I’ve heard quite enough for tonight, thank you,” Joan cut in. “Just thought I’d check one more time before I go.”

It was exactly the kind of night Sherlock hated. Joan had been flouncing about her room for hours, doing all kinds of abhorrent things like putting on make-up and curling her hair, and shimmying into tiny dresses with no knickers while Sherlock sat like a lump on their living room couch, pretending to be disgruntled about something else. Of course Joan was free to go to parties without her – more of a mercy to Sherlock than Joan, in all honesty – but it was a bit aggravating. This type of activity was still linked, in Sherlock’s mind, to Joan looking for some halfwit man to spend the night with. And now Joan was going out to a Valentine’s Day party, of all things, without her.

“Hey.” Joan’s voice came low and rough over Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock grunted, refusing to pay attention to anything beyond the couch cushions.

“Are you even going to look at me, or are you just going to lie there and sulk?”

Sherlock huffed, “I am not sulking –” and stopped short when she turned to see Joan, who looked utterly delectable in a snug white sweater dress. Her hair was pulled into a bun, not military tight but still enough to kick up Sherlock’s heartbeat. Sherlock let out the breath she’d been holding and flattened herself on the couch as Joan climbed on to her lap.

Joan, now straddling her girlfriend quite effectively, pulled Sherlock’s hand up to where the hem of her dress stretched across her thigh. She leaned forward, crowding in to whisper into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, “I’m not leaving my knickers off for anyone else, you know.” Joan then sat back and quirked her eyebrows as if to say _go on then._

Sherlock kept her eyes on Joan’s as she traced the soft fabric around to the inside of Joan’s thigh and swept her fingertips upward. She pressed her palm gently against the freshly trimmed hair between Joan’s legs, watched Joan’s smirk fall to a blissful pout as she parted those warm lips with the heel of her hand, just brushing against the clit. Sherlock dragged her hand slowly back again, letting her two middle fingers dip into the wetness collected there before swirling the pads of them around Joan’s clit. As soon as Joan’s eyes fluttered shut Sherlock slipped her middle finger inside, stroking into that wet heat with gentle insistency.

Just as Sherlock was about to add a second finger, Joan reluctantly groaned, “Ah, Sherlock,” and bit her lip with a little frown – both sure signs that they were stopping.

Sherlock breathed a frustrated sigh and let her hand fall away. “Really?”

“Well, I have somewhere to be tonight, unlike yourself.” Joan removed herself from atop Sherlock and went to retrieve her coat.

“Do you honestly think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

Joan let out a high-pitched laugh. “God, no. So come with me.”

Sherlock rocked herself off the couch, sauntered slowly to stand in front of Joan, and enveloped her still-wet finger deep in her mouth, sucking it as she pulled it back out again to flip off her girlfriend. “I was trying to.”

Joan dropped her eyes to the floor and flexed her jaw as Sherlock walked away toward their bedroom. “Sherlock –”

“Oh, honestly. Why do you have to go to this thing anyway?” Sherlock was actually annoyed at this point. Why couldn’t Joan just go to this damned party instead of inciting further arguments over it?

Joan softened a bit, looking over Sherlock’s disheveled curls and two-day old pyjamas with what looked like suspicion. “I’ve told you. It’s Molly and Greg’s first party as a couple, and I like Valentine’s Day.”

“Today’s the thirteenth.”

Joan sighed and shrugged on her coat. “Best of both worlds, hm? Tonight I get to attend a lovely party with pink decorations and cupcakes, and tomorrow I get to stay in all day shagging my irritating girlfriend who I still love for some reason.”

“Whom,” Sherlock muttered, as Joan marched down the hallway to kiss her cheek.

“Whatever you say, genius.” And then she was gone.

Sherlock waited until she heard the door shut down stairs and then fled to her laptop to do some research. Joan really, _really_ wanted Sherlock at that party, but why? If attending a social event was this important, usually Joan would just say so and drag Sherlock along like the begrudging-yet-loyal puppy that she essentially was. Yet Joan had used every other tool in her arsenal over the last week to get Sherlock to go, and tonight…Joan could do patient teasing, but only when she was in control. She would never start something so deliberately unless she knew for certain she had time to finish. And that conversation in the hallway was just…odd, really.

Sherlock didn’t know what she was looking for, until suddenly she found it. Maybe. Possibly? No. Surely not, but then…what else could possibly be so important about a party at Molly’s flat? Sherlock allowed the tiniest glimmer of hope to influence her decision somewhat. One thing was certain: Joan wanted her girlfriend at that party, and barring objections to materialism and heteronormativity, it was a girlfriend’s responsibility to fulfill these sorts of requirements, right? And with the bun, which Joan knew Sherlock loved, and that dress, it had to be. Unless she was wrong, but how often did that happen? Admittedly a lot when it came to Joan Watson, but surely not about this. She sat for about ten minutes, going over everything that had happened in the past hour, the past week, the past month, and finally shot up from her chair to shower. She already knew what dress to wear.

 

\---

 

Joan had been lingering in the kitchen for most of the evening, willing herself to be cheered up by champagne and cupcakes alternatingly, when Sherlock arrived. She was wearing an unfairly gorgeous red lace dress – probably couture – with her hair pinned back into an elegant tumble of black curls which would have been impossible for anyone else to pull off on such short notice. Joan took a breath to steady herself and immediately thanked every deity she could remember that Sherlock had shown up after all.

“Well, I’m here. Let’s get the spectacle over with, shall we?”

Joan turned to look into those brilliant eyes – green, for the moment – and shook her head. “It’s not all about you, you know. Make yourself comfortable. Have a cupcake.” _Give me a minute to bring my heartrate back down._

Sherlock narrowed her eyes, but took one from Molly’s painstakingly-constructed display nonetheless. She tried to get a read on Joan’s expression from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t figure it out until you’d left.”

Joan chuckled and nodded. “Good to know. Not that I’ve spent the last two hours trying to figure out if you just didn’t want…this.”

Sherlock heard the little wobble in that last word and abruptly realised Joan might need better convincing than Sherlock’s mere presence. She set her cupcake on the counter and took a step to face her girlfriend, wrapping one slender hand around the crux of Joan’s neck and jaw and the other around her waist. “Of course I do,” she whispered, and kissed Joan with all of her considerable attention, letting Joan suck on her lower lip before licking into her mouth just far enough to brush tongues in a series of the lingering, open-mouthed kisses that Joan loved.

Sherlock leaned back and opened her eyes to find Joan staring up at her adoringly. “You know what, I had a whole speech planned, I was gonna do it in front of all our friends, but…yeah, sod it. Hold on a minute.”

Joan disappeared around the corner, presumably to fetch The Box with The Ring in it, and Sherlock waited for her heart to start pounding. Instead she found herself trying to comprehend what was about to happen. _Forever._ Joan wanted her forever.

In what felt like ages and a split second simultaneously, Joan was back, walking up to Sherlock with a black box in her hand.

“That’s not a ring box.”

Joan giggled the way she always did when she thought she was being clever. “No, no it’s not. Well-spotted. Can I do the- the thing now?”

Cautiously, Sherlock nodded.

Joan lowered herself to her knees and presented the black box to Sherlock, opening it to reveal an unadorned platinum ring nestled into a slit that Joan had clearly cut herself. Then the words “Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?” came out of Joan’s mouth, somehow, and Sherlock was silent for at least ten seconds before she could make herself say the words “Yes, of course, yes” and Joan stood back up, smiling like a beam of sunlight. Sherlock felt Joan’s warm, callused hands slip the ring onto her finger and encircle her waste before Joan kissed her soundly, dragging her close enough that their legs tangled together and Sherlock had to wrap her arms around Joan to keep her balance. After a moment Joan giggled elatedly and ended the kiss with a quick nip to Sherlock’s lower lip.

It was then that Sherlock realised they had attracted a crowd, who were now applauding. Molly was beside herself with happiness, practically bouncing up and down next to Greg, who wore a bemused expression. Mrs. Hudson, eyebrows raised knowingly, was chatting to Mike Stamford, who must have been invited by Joan – he and Molly were not strictly friends, outside of complaining to each other about Sherlock. A few of Joan’s friends were still cheering in the corner, probably trying to make Joan blush.

“Right,” Joan began loudly, quieting the remaining noise. “If no one minds too much, I think I’m going to take my fiancée home to start our Valentine’s celebration a bit early.” And with that, she took Sherlock’s hand and led them to the coat rack amidst more cheering and a few cat calls.

 

\---

 

Once they were snuggled up together in the back of a taxi, Sherlock twisted the band around her finger. “You didn’t have to do it in front of everyone, you know.” She waited for Joan to meet her eyes before continuing, “You could have just asked me at home, in Baker Street. I’d have been just as indescribably happy. Why go to all the trouble?”

Joan gave a look of consideration. “Sure, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, you know I like showing you off. I want everyone to know you’re mine. Which reminds me…” She pulled the box back out of her coat pocket and handed it to Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock frowned briefly at Joan and lifted the necklace box to the light, recalling the velvet-lined cardstock inside. Sherlock popped it open and examined it more closely, noticing that the cardstock didn’t quite fit into the box. Upon tugging it lightly from the box she found another layer of it, supporting an item which took her breath away.

“Joan,” she finally whispered, at a loss for words. She was looking at Joan’s own identification tags, arranged to reveal an engraving on the back of one. She flipped the other tag just to see – and it was engraved as well: a worker honey bee on one, and a honeycomb pattern on the other. Sherlock could just see JW and SH engraved inside two connecting cells.

Joan waited a moment, then took the tags from Sherlock and undid the clasp, reaching the two ends of the chain around Sherlock’s statuesque neck. “Not many people know that St. Valentine is the patron saint of bee keepers.”

“And affianced lovers.”

Joan nodded. “Quite specifically, in fact.”

Sherlock kept her eyes locked with Joan’s, fighting the lump in her throat, as the tags fell into place over her heart. Luckily the taxi stopped before either of them felt obligated to speak.


End file.
